


Because I Said So

by ksalterego



Series: Good Touch [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek's Alpha Voice, Feels, First Time, Frottage, Jerk Jackson, M/M, Magic, Magic Made Them Do It, Magic Pollen, Magic Pollen Made Them Do It, Masturbation in Shower, Mates, Oblivious Stiles, Pollen, Pollen Made Them Do It, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Silent Boyd (no seriously he has no lines), Silent Isaac (nearly forgot him because he has no lines either), Smart Derek, Something Made Them Do It, Stiles Feels, The Hale House, Werewolf Mates, come on command
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksalterego/pseuds/ksalterego
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is Derek, knowing for over two years that Stiles is his mate.  There is Stiles, knowing for over two years that he has the hots for Derek; he also has known for over a year that he actually has feelings for Derek.</p><p>And then there is magical pollen.  Or is it pollenized magic?</p><p>Well, whatever.  Things ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Derek Said So

**Author's Note:**

> this is a stand-alone story; not a continuation of the previous parts.
> 
> Pretty sure there don't need to be warnings, but, dear readers, let me know if I've missed anything. As always, swearing...and, sex. Kind of.
> 
> Abrupt ending is abrupt. There will be more.
> 
> (fair warning: a few of the shower scene logistics are....sloppy....please forgive....)
> 
> (i don't know how the tags and things keep getting messed up, i SWEAR i checked m/m like twice...(and now thrice))

Derek loped through the woods, Scott paralleling him and Stiles protected between them.  The rest of the betas spread out ahead and to Derek's other side.  It took a tremendous effort not to wolf out for the pack run, but he liked running beside his mate, and Scott liked running with Stiles, so here they were.

They dodged between trees and shrubs, Stiles adding the occasional sound effect as he pretended to heave axes and shoot arrows at enemies in the nearby brush, or mimed their subsequent bloody deaths in fits and starts when he wasn't swerving one way or another.

Derek wasn't surprised to hear the familiar thunk-and-grunt of Stiles' sneaker catching on something hidden and solid in the dirt.  It was followed by two extended, thudding steps as he tried to recover, and Derek circled back in time to see Stiles face-plant in a pile of oddly-colored dead leaves.

\-----

Stiles tripped over a half-buried root and face-planted in a pile of oddly-colored dead leaves.  They smelled weird.  Not like moldering old leaves, which you might expect from a pile of dead forest stuff in winter, but like...summer and sunshine and blue sky and...and those weren't smelly things and...and it was late winter now and...and...

\-----

Derek watched Stiles push his upper body up and away from the leaves, a puzzled look barely visible on his face beneath the coating of lavender dust that covered his entire front.

Oh, crap.

Stiles' nose wrinkled, then horror widened his eyes and parted his lips and jumped up his heart rate and he shoved himself off the pile and rolled away.

He frantically brushed his sleeves across his face and his hands down his front and wailed, "It's magic, get it off, get it off me, I don't want to be pollenized, what's it gonna- Scott, get it off, get it off, Derek, _someone, get it off_!" until Scott was hovering (because his common sense hadn't yet been overwhelmed by his Stiles feels but Derek knew that was only a matter of time) and Derek dragged Stiles away from the magic pollen pile by his ankles.

\-----

Scott whined frantically, "Stiles, what happened, what's going on?"

Derek dropped Stiles' feet to the ground and snarled "Scott, back off," over the top of Scott's noise.  They never knew what could be touched but not inhaled, or inhaled but not touched, or fucking _neither_ -

-Derek looked down when Stiles gasped.  Stiles' eyes were wide and focused on Derek and his stomach – exposed because Derek had dragged him feet first and so the back of his shirts and hoodie were rucked up under his armpits and probably crammed full of forest floor debris - briefly tightened into a six-pack that Derek hadn't been aware even existed.  _Nice_.

Scott straightened and took a step back, then overcame his instinctive reaction to an Alpha's command.  He scowled at Derek and crouched next to Stiles, but he was careful not to touch.

"Stiles, man, are you okay?"

Stiles jerked his head over to look at Scott, his eyes still wide but his body relaxing into the dirt a bit.

"Stiles?" Scott asked again, and Stiles eased a little further.

Stiles finally said, sounding stunned, "I think something bad happened."

"What is it?" Scott whined, and he reached out toward Stiles.

Derek snapped out another short warning growl to stop him and seriously, was it a teenager thing or did bitten betas have no self-control at all?  Any of them?  _Ever_?

Scott froze, but Stiles flinched again and his chin tilted up and he grabbed dirt with both hands and he squirmed with his hips and dug his heels into the ground.  His eyes shot back to Derek and he got all alarmed and panicked again.  Except, Derek smelled his sudden arousal.  The distress in his eyes and scent blended with embarrassment and...a little bit of fear that Derek sensed he shouldn't take personally, not in small part because he'd never been able to do anything that actually scared Stiles.  Startled him?  Yes, often.  Scared him?  Never.  Not that he'd ever tried, of course...very hard...

Stiles scrambled to his feet and worked at getting the leaves and twigs out of the back of his shirt while the rest of the betas crashed loudly into the clearing.  Derek narrowed his eyes and growled low to stop them.

Well, not low enough, because Stiles twitched and his chin rose again and Derek saw his face flush before he looked away.  Stiles turned his back to everyone while he still worked under his shirt.

Derek growled again, sub-audibly to a human this time, and the betas all looked at him attentively and Stiles didn't flinch-and-flush.  Derek cut his fingers across his neck in a silencing motion at them, then he reached over and tugged at Stiles' sleeve.

Stiles shouted and flailed back.  When he saw everyone watching him, he kind of slumped around resignedly, a slow flush rising again on his cheeks.

Fuck but it was dangerous for Derek when Stiles heated up that way.  It could mean many things, but most often it meant Stiles felt open, exposed...vulnerable.  Derek wanted to _protect_ when Stiles did that, wanted to _claim_ and _mark_ and _own_...he wanted to keep Stiles _safe_.  It drove both him and his wolf nearly crazy.

Derek pointed at Scott, then at Stiles.

"What?" Scott said loudly.

Derek huffed but kept his eyes on Stiles.  Stiles didn't get any tenser, although he didn't exactly relax, either.  Derek looked back at Scott and pointed at Stiles again, then raised his eyebrows threateningly (He knew he could do that because Stiles had told him so.  More than once.).

Scott frowned, then narrowed his eyes a little in thought.  Erica also huffed quietly.  Scott asked Stiles tentatively, "What happened?"

"I don't know," the dam broke, "but it smelled like things that shouldn't be smelled, like summer, that's not a thing you can smell, right?"  Stiles quit digging around in the back of his shirt in order to use his hands to emphasize his words all over.  "I mean, you can smell the grass and the trees _in_ summer, and maybe hot asphalt if it gets hot enough or if you have, like, a welding torch or something-"

_-What?-_

"–but you can't smell _summer_ , you know?  Or the sky, right?  But I could smell the sky and summer and dude, I could smell _sunshine_ and don’t even ask me how I know what they were, I just _knew_.  And really don't ask me what they smelled like cause I have no idea at all, even though I smelled them and I knew what they were.  And now when you talk, it's like I can _feel_ you talking, and-"

"Really?" Scott interjected, instantly fascinated with and completely into Stiles' experience.  "What's it feel like?"

Jackson snorted.  "Are you _kidding_ me?"

Stiles' head flew sideways as if he'd been hit.  He stumbled to the side and a hand shot up to cover his cheek.  He looked up, eyes lighting briefly on Derek, huge and startled and fucking _wounded_.  He dropped his hand as he straightened and turned back to Jackson, and Derek's vision went to mostly black and white because _there was a handprint on Stiles' face_.

Derek made a split-second decision to keep the noise down and Stiles safe, as opposed to lighting into Jackson right now and letting his noise hurt Stiles again and probably worse.  He jumped forward, simultaneously grabbing Scott by the scruff and pushing him out in front of him, and twisting a hand into the back of Stiles' hoodie (relatively safe bet considering Stiles had _face-planted_ in the magic pollen-dust-whatever) and yanking him protectively close behind him – but still back-to-back because of the purple crap.

Derek risked letting go of Scott long enough to point at Jackson while he sliced fingers across his neck again, then shook Scott by the neck and then let go to point at Jackson again.

"Uhhh..." Scott dragged on, then, finally, "Shut up."  And hooray Scott, for not mincing words with Jackson.  Derek gave Scott's shoulder a hard, approving slap.  Scott stood a little taller.  Jackson opened his mouth and Derek growled sub-audibly again.  He let it edge into audible until Stiles stiffened behind him and his scent altered again.

Derek pointed hard at Jackson, then emphasized the pointing with dropped fangs, until the beta rolled his eyes and looked to the side, baring his neck with a longsuffering look on his face.  The little _shit_.  Derek would deal with him later.

He pushed Scott and Stiles toward his house, then they were all running silently - well, verbally silent- through the woods.

\-----

Stiles dropped onto the front steps of Derek's house and leaned back in a limber sprawl that – _fuckitall_ \- exposed a line of skin between jeans and shirt.  He was sweaty and panting and Derek for once didn’t submerge his usual desire to get all up in that, salty sweat and racing heartbeat and the clean, unsullied scent of _virgin_ skin.

Allison aside, how Scott managed to stay platonic friends with Stiles, around _that smell,_ was light years beyond Derek's ability to understand.  Although it was a good thing he had or Derek might have had to put down the interfering beta.  Literally.  No one put hands on Derek's mate without consequences, as Jackson would soon understand.

Scott sat next to Stiles on the stairs, not panting or sweating or anything.  Stiles scowled briefly at him (Stiles made that entire topic an _issue_ with every single one of them) then heavily pushed himself upright and shrugged out of his hoodie and then his shirts.

Stiles had filled out incredibly in the last year, gaining height and, while still lean, his shoulders had widened appreciably and his musculature had firmed up.

And then there was that unexpected six-pack.

Derek gritted his teeth at the expanse of pale, untouched and unmarked skin and turned to deal with the rest of his betas.

Jackson was already in his car and halfway down the driveway.  Boyd was headed for his car, Isaac at his heels.  Boyd simply flicked a two-fingered salute at Derek before getting in and motioning for Erica.

She slanted a wicked glance at Derek and called, "Bye, Stiles, see you Monday," then dove into Boyd's car.

Derek let them go without doing damage to Boyd's car and a third of the contents, in favor of watching the effect Erica's voice had on Stiles.

Stiles' usual and instinctive smile was only a slight flicker before he flattened back onto the stairs.  Faint red scratches erupted across his arms, chest and belly.  His shoulders banged back against the top step and he froze, panic and apprehension heavy on his face until Scott said something quiet to him, brought his attention back.

Derek contemplated the look on Stiles' face and it didn’t take long at all to place it: prey.

What the fuck.

Erica was now first on Derek's list of little _shits_ to deal with.  At least Jackson hadn't known the impact his voice would have on Stiles; Erica certainly did know.

But later.

\-----

Stiles turned eighteen a few months ago.  Derek had been on the alert for the right time to move things along – and _now_ was looking more and more like that time.

\-----

Derek recognized Stiles as his mate the first time he'd gotten within scenting distance of the kid, but they'd known each other about a year before Stiles suddenly became _aware_ of Derek one memorable day, clear out of the blue.  It had been amusing at first, Stiles tripping all over himself and blushing and flailing and his heart running erratically every time he saw Derek, his arousal flooding whatever space they happened to be in.  Stiles eventually learned better control over his reactions, and the blushing and flailing subsided to a few skipped heartbeats and a resigned and slightly sad but unwavering desire when Derek hadn't responded – _couldn't_ respond.

Derek hadn't liked the sad-and-resigned part at all, but Stiles had been far too young to encourage – especially when Stiles had a proven ability to bring down the moon when he was given a short rope, and Stiles didn't have the slightest clue how tightly he already had Derek wound around him.

Lately, however, Stiles once again flooded the air around them with his arousal every time they got within sight of each other.  It was a little different this time, though.  Instead of just simple sexual attraction, it was deeply laced with a sweet warmth very similar to the one Derek remembered as always hovering in the air when his parents were together.

Still...it was like swimming through a fog of sex.  Derek ended up jacking off almost every time they crossed paths.  _Soon_ after they crossed paths.

\-----

Derek would never in a million years admit to being within hearing distance for many of the many, many, many times Stiles had brought himself off to a quiet "Derek" or a shouted "Derek" or a pleading "Derek" or a demanding "Derek" or, Derek's favorite, "Yeah, fuck me, Derek."

Fuck.

\-----

Allison drove up, waving cheerfully and calling to Scott out her car window.

Stiles reflexively hunched over before slowly returning to the something resembling not-tense that Scott's voice was keeping him at.  He actually waved and smiled at her, but it was kind of a sickly smile and not even close to his usual full-throttle grin.

Scott mumbled a quick goodbye to Stiles and batted gently at his shoulder before he trotted off to Allison.

Derek watched them leave, then looked back at Stiles.

\-----

Stiles watched Scott leave with Allison and sighed because crap.  Now he was alone with Derek.  That needed to change because he'd be dipped in shit before he let Derek know how he felt about the big lunk.  He had real feelings for the wolf.  Forever feelings.  His decade-long crush on Lydia had been exposed as exactly that, the moment he met Derek.  Okay, well, it had taken him a little while to _get_ Derek, maybe about a year, or two, but hey, he'd been sixteen when they met, and to give him credit, once he'd peeled back enough Derek-layers it was like he'd been hit by lightning or some stupid Harlequin novel nonsense.

He was ruined for crushes forever.

"This is fucked up," Stiles complained quietly to himself, staring anywhere but at Derek.

This ridiculous pollen spell, or whatever it was, was making his reactions to people completely physical and visible on his skin.  Or maybe their reactions were visible on him?  No, had to be his own reactions because _Derek Hale_ sure didn't get turned on by _Stiles Stilinski_.

How did witches even come up with this kind of shit?  The bitches.  Bastards.  Warlocks?  Probably a fucking coven.  Derek needed to go take care of this shit; it was his property, his problem.  Actually, Stiles would be more than happy to assist with the clean-up effort.  He was pretty sure his dad had a toxic waste clean-up suit somewhere in the garage at home.

He stood and climbed the stairs to the porch, where he'd thrown half his clothing.  He grabbed his t-shirt from the pile, twisting it and working it to get it turned back to right side out.  He seriously didn't want to put magic back on but things probably couldn’t get any worse than they already were plus it was cold out here plus he wasn't about to go driving through town shirtless in winter (hello, creeper) plus his t-shirt had been at least mostly covered by his hoodie and flannel shirt.  He pulled it over his head and emerged to see Derek standing right in front of him.

"FUUUUUCK _DUDE_ _what_ the hell?"  The side of Derek's mouth quirked up and Stiles panicked.  "No, don't talk, don't say anything, don't, I'll go see Deaton tomorrow, I promise-"

Derek stepped closer and closer and then somehow he got even closer and Stiles could feel the hot delicious heat of his body and he panicked harder.  If Derek figured out the reaction Stiles got from his voice _alone_ , it was just, it'd be the end of the world, it would be _that bad_.  Stiles flailed himself _away_ and Derek moved right along with him, a determined look on his face, until Stiles fell right back over the threshold and into Derek's lair.

Den.

Whatever.

It was a dangerous place for Stiles to be no matter what it was called.

\-----

Stiles moaned when Derek shut the door behind him.  He held up his hands in self-defense.  "Dude, c'mon- okay, okay, I see the eyebrows, I won't- just, lemme out, c'mon, Derek, please, I gotta go home."

Derek looked sarcastically at the non-existent watch on his wrist.

Stiles dropped his hands to his hips and straightened his shoulders.  "Oh, that was not nice, you are _not_ being nice.  I said I'll go see Deaton, why are you keeping me here _against my will_?"

Derek rolled his eyes then leaned back against the closed door and crossed his arms over his chest.  He looked pointedly over Stiles' shoulder at the door to the garage which he wasn't guarding and which Stiles totally knew was there.

"You suck."

Derek smiled.  Evilly.

Stiles' brain went _there_.  "You do not..."  But inquiring minds...

The smile got more evil.

"Fuuhuhuck."  Stiles couldn't contain himself because, holy shit, _material_.  " _Really_?"

Derek bared wolfed-out teeth.

Stiles instinctively covered his groin with both hands.  "Okay, _no_.  Not cool, not at _all_ cool.  That's like breaking some sort of guy law or something, you can't insinuate shit like that when you're talking about dicks."

Derek smiled again, and it didn't have a whole lot of wolf to it this time, mostly just humor.

"Dude- Derek, c'mon, I really want to go home and shower."

Derek held out his hand and wiggled his fingers in a give-it-here motion.

"What."

Derek wiggled his fingers again, sighed with a hint of voice to it, and Stiles' shoulders went back as a hot shiver skated up his spine.

"Du- Derek, don't!  C'mon, man, I'm begging you, don't-"

Derek leaned forward and waved a pointed finger up Stiles' body, from his waist to his neck.

"Ohhh, oh, okay, sure, yeah, you can have my shirt, but why?  And don't answer that, but, why?  It's cold, I'm cold, I wanna go home and shower-"

Derek frowned and opened his mouth to talk.

"-no no no!"  Stiles ripped his t-shirt off and threw it at Derek's stupid face.

Derek ducked it using his wolfy powers and Stiles realized what he'd nearly done.  "Oh shit, sorry, sorry, I didn't mean, I mean, I wasn't trying to-"

"Shut _up_."

Derek's voice impacted against his butt like a physical touch; a quick, sharp smack.  A _hard_ smack.  Stiles squeaked and jumped forward hips first, _at_ Derek.  He reversed direction hard enough and fast enough that his feet couldn't keep up and he fell backward onto his butt in the middle of Derek's front hall and the jerk was laughing but Stiles had to give him points because he was at least keeping it silent.

"Fuck _me_ ," Stiles grumbled as he got to his feet.  This was getting to be too much.  He stopped brushing the dust from the seat of his pants when he saw the look on Derek's face:  speculative... _interested_.

Stiles froze even further at that look because-

Derek noticed his gaze and sort of paused, maybe realizing he'd been caught.

-because it had to be the magic.  It had to be, because, as previously noted, Derek Hale sure didn't have the hots for Stiles Stilinski.  Stiles said flatly, "You're joking."  

Derek unapologetically shrugged and went right back to leering at Stiles' half-naked and chilly bod.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest.  His curiosity sparked, however, along with his usual need to poke and pry and prod.  Er...to hypothesize and test and confirm.  "How long?"

Derek looked up again.

"Don't answer that.  Ummm...longer than today?"

Derek nodded.

"Longer than a week?"

Derek nodded.

"A month?"

Derek nodded.

"Longer than six months?"

Derek nodded, and he was still looking directly at Stiles, intent and completely serious.

Stiles suddenly felt inappropriately breathless and he had to sternly remind himself that this was the magic.  It was just some less-obvious side effect of the magic.  "Longer than a year?"

Derek nodded.

Did he really need to know the exact answer to this question right this very moment?  Because he'd known Derek for two years now and it could take a while to narrow it down – and, magic.  Right?  The final answer would probably be something like "since the beginning of time" or some misleading magic crap like that.  And yet...  Stiles liked to cover all his bases when he had the opportunity.  You never knew when magic was going to change something permanently.  "Is there a reason you haven't said anything, like, I mean, besides the fact that you don't ever talk- like now, like right now you don't talk, okay?  Don't talk."

Derek nodded, his mouth slightly curving up.

Stiles calmed down and contemplated.  Thoughtfully.  He thoughtfully contemplated the concept that Derek might find Stiles hot and yet not said or done anything about it for over a year.  Because that would be more than just a little odd, even for Derek.  It wasn't as if Derek actually said much about anything, but even if he wasn’t into talking, he was darn sure into _doing_.

And Derek darn sure hadn't _done_ in the last over-a-year.  Stiles was certain he would have noticed that.  And, y'know, _done_ right back.

So...magic.

Stiles then went out on a limb because, magic aside, his self-preservation instinct was a little iffy, and maybe he was also a little bit of a masochist.  "Were you waiting to get to know me better?"

Derek gave a weird little shrug.  He nodded, shook his head, shrugged again.

Fucking magic.

Stiles scowled.  Having all of his hopes and dreams raised and then dashed inside of thirty seconds wasn't new to him, but it still vexed him.  "What is that?  I very carefully phrased that question so you could provide me with a yes or no answer.  Simple, right?  But no, Derek Hale has to make everything complicated because he doesn't ever _talk_ -"

"Stiles," Derek said gently.

Stiles inhaled when he felt Derek's hand against the side of his face, as gentle as his voice, as steady and solid as his hands always were, alive and warm and _touching_ him.

He dodged aside, which did nothing to stop the sensation.  "Oohhhhh shit that's weird.  No, _don't_ do it again."

Derek rolled his eyes.  Then he pointed up the stairs.  Then he made a shooing motion at Stiles and pointed at the stairs again.

Stiles immediately ditched his vexation and asked with all the wide-eyed innocence he could muster, because Derek's buttons were so big and obvious (and pretty damn fun), "You want me to go upstairs?"

Derek huffed through bared and extended teeth and took the four steps he needed to, to get right in Stiles' face.  He stretched out an arm and pointed up the stairs.

"Into your lair?"

Derek's face quirked funnily.  Well, Stiles thought it was funny.  He only laughed on the inside, though, because he wasn't stupid.

"Voluntarily?"

Derek looked pointedly at the garage door again.

Stiles sighed, because not only was he a masochist, he was helpless against Derek's charm.  He was putty in Derek's hands.  He was a thing to be molded by- yeah, no.  But he could find no logic in giving up this promising opportunity for some quality alone time with Derek.  He'd just have to be really careful what he thought about.  "Fine.  Fine, I'll climb the Rapunzel stairs.  But don't think I won't leave at any moment if I feel my virtue is in danger."  He was such a liar.

Derek barked out a pleased laugh that grabbed Stiles' hips, tightened briefly, then slid away in a heated fade.

"Dude, _not_ reassuring."

"Shut _up_."

Stiles yelped and climbed.

\-----

Stiles stopped suddenly when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror.

"What the?" he protested, startled and offended at the state of himself.  The magic – it had to be the magic – discolored his skin in the form of a thin and patchy layer of what looked like lavender grime over the backs of his hands, face and neck, stopping where his t-shirt and hoodie had protected his skin from contact.  Jackson's handprint was still pink and vivid on his cheek, half-visible under the layer of dust, and his chest and arms, clear of the gunk, were littered with tiny Erica-scratches everywhere.  It looked like he'd run naked through a bed of miniature rosebushes and then gotten bitch-slapped by the big biker dude who owned them.  Also..."Ow!"

Derek moved carefully around him so as not to touch and turned on the shower.

"Ow ow ow, that _hurts_.  Why does it hurt?  Why did they hurt me?  I don't understaaaaaaand..."

Derek left the bathroom with yet another silent roll of his eyes.

Stiles struck a pose in front of the mirror, body-builder style, arms up.  He flexed his biceps and hey, maybe turning eighteen had finished up something that lacrosse had started because, wow, he actually had some definition there now.  Maybe running around in the forest with werewolves all the time had something to do with it too.

He turned, checked out his back and his butt, flexed both, and liked that result too.  Derek's bathroom mirror was new, like the rest of the bathroom, and it was also big.  Stiles' mirror situation at home consisted of the medicine cabinet in his bathroom.  Not that he was all that into staring at himself so it wasn't an issue, per se, but he may as well take advantage of a gigantic mirror where he could.  He turned back, put his arms down and hulked out.

Derek's low laugh behind him rippled across his skin like a warm hug; it started at his back and spread around his sides and over his shoulders to his front.  It squeezed lightly, then ruffled through his hair before it drifted away.

Stiles flushed, but he straightened and shook out his limbs casually.  "Oh, hey, Der, didn't see you there."

Derek's eyes were warm and amused over Stiles' shoulder in the mirror.  He eased into the bathroom again without touching Stiles.  He tucked a clean green towel into the towel rack, next to a blue one already casually folded over it.  Clearly, Derek's towel was the blue one.  Stiles liked blue.  He also liked green.  He really liked the colors together.  They were like a little slice of a rainbow or something; maybe there'd be a pot of gold somewhere at the end of their blue-and-green rainbow, their side-by-side colors, like the side-by-side towels-

"Oh crap, shut up, Stiles," Stiles blurted out.

Adderall: wearing off.

Derek looked at him, concerned.

"Talking to myself.  Reminding myself not to talk to myself.  Out loud.  You know."

Derek looked speculative.

Stiles decided he'd embarrassed himself enough for the next three days, or for the rest of his life, really, but he was Stiles and so three days was plenty to hope for.  Yep.  Three days.  Or, y'know, twenty minutes.  He mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key.

Derek grinned as he left again, closing the door behind him.

Fuck Derek's smile.

\-----

The hot water stung his scratches at first and Stiles yelped and whined to his heart's content.  Except it wasn't as much fun without someone to tell him to shut up about it.  He sighed heavily.  Alone as usual.  Nothing new going on there.

Derek's body wash smelled pretty good, kinda like Derek.  Stiles snorted.  Of course it smelled like Derek, it was his body wash.  Oh, hey, now he was going to smell like Derek's body wash.  He was going to smell like Derek.

Stiles liked that thought.

Stiles' dick liked that thought.

He thought about smelling like Derek and everything that entailed with a werewolf (sex; blow jobs; sex; waking up together; sex; white picket fences; sex; etc., sexcetera, etc.) until he found himself coming between his soap-slicked fingers alongside a startled " _Derek._ "

He collapsed against the side of the shower until his legs stopped shaking.  Once he could stand without fear of slipping and cracking his head open on the side of the tub, he quickly finished washing, rinsing the evidence away.

That felt kind of creepy, masturbating in Derek's shower to the thought of Derek fucking him stupid.  Even though it was kind of accidental.  Was it even possible to jerk off unintentionally?  Well, clearly, he'd done just that...  Wow.  So bad.

Hey, Derek liked him though, right?  Or at least for the duration of the current magical moment.  So maybe Stiles wasn't all that creepy.  Maybe he was just sort of...pining.  No no, that wasn't the right word.  Anticipating?  No, that wasn't right, either.  Desperate?  Well, okay, maybe.  That wasn't exactly wrong, even if it wasn't what he was going for here.  Secret crush?  No, that wasn't even- head over heels in love?

Yeah, that was it.

"I'm so fucked."

Stiles shut off the water and flung the shower curtain aside.  It wasn't until he was nearly dry that he realized the short pile of clothing on the counter wasn't _his_ clothing.  _His_ clothes were gone.

And that was a really short pile of clothing.  Like, one article of clothing.

That wasn't his.

He bellowed, "Where're my clothes?" as he hopped out of the tub.  He curled his toes into the thick and fluffy bath mat he'd been too distracted to notice earlier.  It was soft and comfy and his toes really liked it.  He leaned forward a little as he rubbed the towel quickly over his hair, catching the last drips from his nose and ears and chin.  He wondered when Derek had swapped out his clothes.

Then he wondered _when_ Derek had swapped out his clothes.

Oh _shit_.

Derek tapped twice on the door then _he fucking walked in_.

Stiles jolted upright and instantly dropped the towel to waist level then nearly dropped it entirely at the sight of shirtless, barefoot Derek.

Derek smirked at him.

Oh that fucker, he _knew_.

Stiles blushed, hard enough that he figured it probably showed all over his entire body.  He was kind of glad to know that somewhere in his head there was some sort of understanding that rubbing one out in Derek's shower hadn't been the smartest thing he could have done.  Unintentionally.

Oh.  Oh shit.  That also wasn't the smartest thing to think about while he was all naked and Derek was half-naked and his mouth curved so invitingly and his jeans were riding way too fucking low on his hips and Stiles could hear his own heartbeat when it jumpstarted and he knew Derek could hear it too.  Fuck.

Derek's eyes flashed over to red.

Stiles backed away, not afraid of Derek, not even the slightest, but sort of stunned by the multiple hits of his own embarrassment, sexy-as-fuck-Derek looking like Stiles was something he wanted to _devour_ , his suddenly non-existent refractory period (fucking _magic_ ), and totally confused about the sudden Alpha eyes.  He overbalanced against the edge of the tub.

Derek was all over him that fast, catching him with an obscenely muscled arm around his waist.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Stiles was pressed against Derek from the waist down, the towel trapped between them.  Derek had thrown one foot into the tub to stop the fall, which meant that Stiles was left sort of straddling Derek's other thigh and kind of a little bit bent over backward.

He'd instinctively grabbed at Derek for balance and purchase when he'd suddenly found himself without either, so he had the _bare_ skin of Derek's side under one hand while the other was wrapped up around the top of Derek's other bicep, which apparently kept them away from the tiled shower wall because it was flexed and hard and not even straining from the weight.

Stiles found the entire situation kind of inappropriately hot.  So did his dick.

Oh fuck oh fuck.

He didn't dare move because the red was intense in Derek's eyes.  Stiles wasn't a beta and he especially wasn't even one of Derek's betas, but Derek's Alpha voice still did _things_ to him and here they were all up close and personal and _fuck_ , he was already having some impulse-control issues right now, there was no way this could end well for him.

Derek looked at Stiles.  Watched him.  Held him there without any effort and watched.  Like prey.  Like Stiles was prey.

Stiles licked his lips and whispered carefully, "Derek?"  Stiles was kind of glad he'd had that quiet personal moment in the shower, but it wasn't really even helping much because his most favorite kink of all time was Derek and here he was, all wrapped up in Derek.

And, y'know, Derek's own thick erection nudging against Stiles wasn't a turn-on at all, nope, not even the slightest.  Just saying.

Derek slowly lowered his head.  Slowly, like he was trying not to startle Stiles.

"Derek?"  Stiles tried to edge away as Derek leaned in, but he was contained and off-balance enough that he really couldn't, so his effort only resulted in him tilting his head away, which, he realized too late, would appear as submission to Derek.

Then Derek was snuffling at his neck, like he'd seen him do with the betas.  Scenting him.  Scenting him?  Really, what?

Derek's low, questioning noise became a series of light sensations at all of Stiles' pulse points: neck, wrists, inside his elbows, the backs of his knees, his ankles.

Oh brother.

"I smell like _you_ , you idiot."

Derek made a satisfied sort of noise that translated to a slightly more tangible repeat of the touches, and nosed around some more.  Then a just as low but firmer questioning noise and they became actual touches that Stiles could feel, unyielding and weighted against his skin, Derek's touch.

This was a dangerous road to go down.

Stiles pushed at Derek, sort of.  This really was an awkward position.  Also, his abs weren't really up for this kind of workout.  "Uh, hey, Derek?"

Derek fake-dropped him with the arm around his waist then pulled him back hard.

Stiles yelped and clutched harder at him from the abbreviated fall and it did nothing to kill his troublesome arousal when the motion caused his junk to rub all over Derek's thigh.  "You jerk.  No more scenting.  Get off me."

Derek growled a warning, a long, low rumble, and Stiles felt it like a hand on the back of his neck, just as he had in the forest:  tight and controlling and pulling his head back to expose his neck.

What the- how- why was this so _hot_?  He said weakly, "Stop licking my neck."

Derek being Derek, he replaced his tongue with a light scrape of teeth.  Stiles shivered.  The only good thing about his personal alone-time in the shower was that he probably would have shot off from Derek's teeth alone if he hadn't already done it about three minutes ago to the thought of Derek's dick up his ass.

 _Wrong_ thing to think about and why couldn't he get that image out of his head?  He was already past semi-hard, and his body's mindless rutting against Derek's thigh was like trying to dig through rock with a Number 2 pencil but it felt so damn good.  Every part of Derek was hard and resistant and Stiles _loved_ it.

Stiles took a shuddering breath and tried to get himself back, tried to think with his brain and not his body.  Derek.  How could he do this to Derek?  Derek would regret this when the magic wore off, he totally would, and Stiles didn't want that for him.  That helped, a little.

"Der, abs.  I don't have."

Derek chuckled against Stiles' neck, another warm slide around his back and ribs and arms, but at least the darn wolf uprighted them – although that really wasn't much better because now even more of Stiles was plastered to Derek's front.  Not that it was a bad place to be, but Stiles renewed his commitment not to take advantage of Derek when he was so clearly not in control.  Heartbreaking, truly, it was heartbreaking.

"You can let me go now."  _Please don't let me go._

Derek shook his head, then leaned in for Stiles' neck again, bent Stiles slightly backward again.

Stiles went to lean away, but Derek had lowered his arm from the shower wall so he had to change his grip on Derek to do it because of that pesky abs issue and now all there was to grab was the back of Derek's neck or a bicep (from a new angle) or a shoulder or the other side of his waist and Stiles kind of shorted out trying to make that decision.

He regained his senses to discover his body had opted for the back of Derek's neck during his mental absence.

Also, Derek's other hand was now cupping the back of Stiles' head, firm and strong, in the process of tilting Stiles' head, presumably so Derek could get at the other side of Stiles' neck.

"What is it with you and scenting, anyway?"  And also, why did he sound like he was running out of air?  Why did he sound as if he wasn't actually complaining, which he _was_.

Derek huffed a noiseless laugh against Stiles' shoulder, his breath hot and wet and Stiles shivered.  Derek tightened around him and licked up the back curve of Stiles' ear.  Stiles made some kind of weird groaning sighing moaning noise.

He couldn't...think...he needed to think...

"Derek, fuck, man, you gotta let me go or I'm gonna come on you.  Or maybe on your towel.  Is it still even there?  Please let it be there because this is already embarrassing enough.  C'mon Derek, _please_."  And that might not have been immediately true, but it was only a single touch away from being true, so no lies there.

Derek straightened.  He leaned back from Stiles a little, his hand shifting from Stiles' head to the middle of his back.  Stiles realized he had a handful of Derek's hair, silky and just barely long enough to keep a grip on it between his knuckles.

The game was long past up.  Derek had to know how much Stiles got turned on just by looking at him, it couldn’t be any more obvious by now.  He sighed, resigned to his humiliation, and released the fistful of hair only to involuntarily grab it again.

Derek growled something that sounded suspiciously close to a purr and it slid right down Stiles' spine and spread heat outward over his entire body.  Stiles' hips jerked against Derek's hard, hard, hard body.

"Hunffffhhhh."  His balls drew up, ready and willing.

"Mmmm," Derek sort of said.  It sounded like he'd liked what Stiles had done and the noise he made was a firm hand sliding down the side of Stiles' ribcage, from chest to hip.

That felt good beyond reason, and as he sagged weakly into Derek's strong hands and arms, he distantly wondered if he should panic because it seemed like Derek had gotten a really fast handle on how this magic thing was working, but fuck, he'd wanted Derek's hands on him for over a year now and he was just weak enough to find this really hard to stop.

Derek tilted his head and somehow put an obscene amount of suggestion into "Hmmmm."

That one was a hand on Stiles' butt, sliding slow and hot and inflexible, and he swore he could feel fingertips dip slow into the underside of his butt-cheek before they cupped the back of his thigh and tugged his leg his leg up against the outside of Derek's thigh, before fading.  Stiles couldn't resist moving with it, his hips jerking against Derek a few times before he could stop himself.

Stiles flushed, and yeah, time to panic.  He tried to push away again.  "Derek."  His voice was stupidly breathless because he really wanted this, _really_ wanted this to be real, and he accidently looked up at Derek.

The red was gone from his eyes but they were mostly black, just a rim of that blue-grey-green-whatever color they were.  They were focused on Stiles' mouth.

"Stiles."  There was so much Alpha, so much command and demand and control in his voice that it became the hand on the back of Stiles' neck again, pulling his head back, baring his throat.

Stiles' hips moved again and he was close, too close, this was so stupid and he wanted Derek to want it for real-

Derek grazed his teeth, wickedly sharp and brief, down the side of Stiles' neck and back up.  He said right into Stiles' ear, hot and insistent, "Stiles.  _Come now_."

Derek's Alpha voice added a tight, rough hand around Stiles' cock; a fast rub across the tip and four hard jerks that were two more than he needed.

Stiles arched back into the voice at his neck, the hand at his back, the arm around his waist.  Pleasure curled from the base of his spine and outward.  It started as a slow, spreading warmth, and by the time it reached his fingers and toes it was electricity thundering through his body, overtaking his bones and his brain and his will.  He thrust against Derek over and over, gasping and shouting, digging his fingernails into Derek's skin to keep from flying away.

Derek howled, a victorious predator, and everything started all over and Stiles bucked against Derek, coming _again_ , crying out in disbelief and fuck-that-feels-good and it was so good and too good and too much and so hard he eventually whited out.

\-----

Stiles twitched awake.

He recognized post-coital lethargy- well, not really, but he'd read plenty about it and Scott perpetually shared far too much and it was sort of like the pleasant haze he got after masturbating only that was like post-coital-lite while _this_ -

"Stop thinking."  Derek, right in his ear, and his voice was like instant Adderall to Stiles' jumping bean of a brain.

"Dude, that's awesome, you actually shut my brain up.  Thank you."

"Shhh."  Derek's finger over his lips – oh, voice-fingers _and_ real fingers.  That was weird.  Derek's real fingers stayed on his mouth after the voice ones evaporated.  His fingers slowly drifted to Stiles' cheek, while his thumb moved back and forth across Stiles' lower lip.

Stiles opened his eyes.

He recognized the ceiling, in the dim light of the early winter afternoon.  Derek's bedroom ceiling.  So, he was in Derek's bed.  And that couldn't be anything but Derek's leg thrown across his, heavy and hard with muscle.  He chanced a look at Derek.

Derek lay on the bed beside him, on his side, tucked up close to Stiles but not crowding him, not too much.

Stiles swore he could see something like affection in Derek's eyes, on his face.  He wasn't frowning, either.

It had to be the dim lighting.  Or the magic.

Oh crap.  Derek was going to hate him so much tomorrow.  Or whenever the spell or whatever it was wore off.  Oh hey, what if it didn't wear off for a week?  Or even a month?

Stiles looked back at the ceiling and contemplated that thought.  He was pretty sure he could get into the whole multiple-orgasms-brought-on-by-Derek's-voice thing, maybe a month or two of this would be enough-

Stiles groaned, and managed to slap both hands weakly over his face without jabbing himself in the eye.

Derek shifted.  His thigh slid across Stiles', a forearm planted between Stiles' side and arm, his weight came down on Stiles' chest and stomach, on his hips and groin, and Derek pushed his hands off his face.

"Uh, Derek, you're missing some clothing.  I think.  Well, I know."

Derek raised his eyebrows and almost smiled.

"Pants.  You don't have any pants on."

Derek said softly, "Neither do you."  Derek's voice-touch was a firm hand along Stiles' waist and hip, down his thigh and to his knee before it drifted away.

"Yeah, well, that's because _someone_ interrupted me before I could get dressed."

"Shhh."

Stiles batted at the voice-fingers pressing his lips closed, not at all surprised when it didn't work.  Stupid magic.  When the fingers were gone he said, "I don't want to take advantage of you."

Derek froze.

Of course, that's when Stiles realized Derek had been slowly, determinedly, barely, rocking his erection alongside Stiles' oh-suddenly-now-there's-a-refractory-period dick.

Stiles shifted his gaze to the ceiling.

"How?" Derek asked, kind of choked-sounding.

There was a light stutter of touches down the middle of Stiles' chest.  "The magic.  It's the magic.  You don't really like me this way.  And I don't want you to regret it tomorrow."  There, said it, out in the open now, done.  Finis.  Nail in the coffin.

Derek said firmly, "I want this."

Stiles ignored- tried to ignore the tug at his chest, the sensation of Derek's hand at the base of his spine, pressing his hips up.  "Yeah, because of the magic."

After another quiet second, Derek dropped his head to the middle of Stiles' chest, and his shoulders started shaking.

Okay, unexpected.  Wow, the magic really did a number on Derek.  That actually kind of pissed off Stiles.  He never liked to see Derek hurt in any way, even when he was being a dick.

Stiles patted at Derek's hard-muscled shoulder- oh hey, look at that, refractory period's over.  "Fuck my completely inappropriate dick," Stiles grumbled without thinking.

Derek looked up so Stiles looked down.

Derek was making that face where he was trying really hard not to laugh.  It almost looked like a frown but his eyes were all scrunched up with laughter and what the hell?

Derek finally cut loose and laughed.

Stiles was confused and therefore irritated, until Derek's laugh hit all of his ticklish spots at once.  Stiles yelped and laughed and tried to squirm away but Derek's weight kept him in place until he was helpless and gasping weakly more than he was laughing.

Derek finally stopped with the noise.

As soon as Stiles got his breath back, he punched Derek in the shoulder.  "You are evil.  I hate you."

Derek shook his head, but his eyes were still scrunched with humor.

Fuck Derek's laughing eyes.

Derek kissed him.

Oh holy fuck, could Derek kiss.  His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue demanding, invading- nay, pillaging-

Derek growled low and Stiles was ripped out of the kiss by that hand that bent him backward every time.

"Stop that, stop growling, it's too fucking hot-"

Derek's mouth latched on to the thin skin at the base of Stiles' neck.  His tongue flicked over skin then he sucked until Stiles felt the sting of blood coming to the surface.

"-huuunnng!"

Derek lifted his head looked down at the result of his mouthwork and rumbled with satisfaction.

"Oh no."

Stiles' leg, trapped between Derek's, jerked to the side.

Derek's eyebrows went up and his mouth curved into a small smile.  He lifted his body at the same time he said, "Move your leg."

It was like his hand on the inside of Stiles' knee, pushing his legs apart.  Derek promptly dropped back into the vee of Stiles' legs.  He nudged Stiles' legs wider with one thigh and settled in with a slow roll of his hips.

"You're evil.  You _are_ \- okay, no, you aren't evil but this is the magic and if we do this now and you hate me tomorrow I don't think I can stand it, Derek.  I won't be- I can't do this anymore without getting- without- I can't.  You need to stop, because I won't hurt you like that and you'll hate me even more and I can't- I won't _survive_ it."

Well, shit.  That got Derek's highly offended attention.

"I don’t hate you."  Another tug at his chest.  Another warm hand at the side of his neck, drifting away.

He'd already said too much.  "We can't do this."

"You want me," Derek said flatly.  Stiles squirmed against the definite sensation of a hand covering his dick between them.

"I-"

"I can smell it."  Light huffs of breath against his neck.

"You can smell what?"

"Attraction.  Your attraction.  To me."

Stiles pushed into the hand once again at his groin while he kept his brain online by sheer force of will, if only to be able to say, "What?  What.  _What_?"  WHAT?  Oh holy fucking stars and garters, what was Derek saying?  "You can- _that_?"  Please, no.  How could- werewolves- scent- "Oh fuck-"  How long, how long?  How long ago?  How had he not- attraction was a fucking scent? Stiles tried frantically to remember how long ago he'd first been attracted to Derek, he'd been a kid, probably not even seventeen when he'd just twigged to Derek one day; he'd gotten to know Derek by then and he'd seen that faint, sarcastic and challenging quirk of his lips in conjunction with a one-handed pull-up and he'd been a goner.  Ever since.

Derek knew.

He'd always known.

Derek _knew_.

"Okay, great.  So you've known for about a year.  Terrific."  Stiles wished he could just die on the spot.  His face was starting to hurt from the heat of his blush and he stared fiercely at the ceiling.

But Derek shook his head.  "Before that."

Something tugged weirdly in the middle of Stiles' chest.

"What before?  There was just you being an asshole before."

Derek huffed, then pressed a kiss to the edge of Stiles' jaw.

What?

"I knew when we met."

Another weird pull on his chest.  "What are you even- I wasn't attracted to you when we first met- not very much- not enough to-"  Stiles sighed.  "I didn't know you then."

Derek moved up Stiles, got right over him until Stiles _had_ to look him in the eye.  He considered closing his eyes, but that would be pointless because Derek had the power here and he clearly wasn't above using it.  Stupid magic pollen.

Derek looked him in the eye, purposeful and Alpha.  "I knew as soon as we met that you were my mate."

That weird pull in Stiles' chest turned into a twisting, turning, exciting, hot, alive _thing_.  It ached and burned and stretched, but it was more real than any of the rest of the magic so far.

Derek blinked.  He jerked a little, then looked down at their chests.  He looked back up at Stiles, puzzled.

"Say that again," Stiles demanded.

"You're my mate."

Something snapped between them.  It twanged and reverberated, solid and thick, heavy and binding.  Stiles arched into it, shuddering with it until it settled into place.  "Huh- hhhh- wha-"

"Mating bond," Derek said, awed wonder making him sound young, undamaged and clean, and everything that meant to Derek flooded Stiles.


	2. Chapter 2 (The middle chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets called home by his dad. Then Derek has to go do werewolf stuff. Then Stiles has a crappy day. Also, Derek gets hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I swear this was supposed to be crack. First chapter ended up weird so I went for "whatever", and now this chapter has turned into a middle chapter, not to mention there are FEELS. What is GOING ON.

When he was far enough away from Derek's house that he knew Derek couldn't hear him, Stiles pulled his Jeep to the side of the road and let his head fall against the steering wheel, both hands at twelve to cushion the impact.

His hands were shaking, his entire body was shaking, his _brain_ was shaking.

Derek.

Fucking, just... _Derek_.

Everything he'd ever wanted, everything he'd ever wanted to hear Derek say had been all wrapped up in those two, short, words.

_Mating bond._

Derek had looked at Stiles like he never had before.  He'd looked at him the way Stiles had wanted Derek to look at him for what seemed like forever.  Derek had kissed him then, gently, reverently, as if Stiles was something fragile that he wanted to protect – which, no, but, still.

_Mating bond._

Stiles had felt what Derek felt.  He knew it was Derek's feelings, because while Stiles was a master of research, no one, including Stiles, had the slightest _idea_ what a werewolf mating bond was about.

It was about having a mate, sure, someone who would be with you, stand by your side and have your back until the very end.  But it was also about family, about pack, about Alphas and Betas; it was about lazy Sunday mornings in bed and watching your pups grow up, and it was about growing old together.

It was about finding that one person, that one being, who was the other half of yourself, who could be your _anchor_.  It was about a lifetime of belonging and pack hugs and moonlit runs in the woods together.  It was about doing good together, about _being_ good together.  It was about making a way and a difference for themselves and their pups and their pack.

It was peaceful and settling and warm and it filled a spot in Stiles' chest that had been empty for far too long.

It was- it was awesome and frightening.  It was huge.  Overwhelming.

Stiles had never even dated and now he had this, a _mating bond_ , and he was terrified of breaking it, of breaking them, of breaking _Derek_.

Derek had kissed him so carefully, so slowly, until Stiles grew impatient and wound his fingers into Derek's hair up where it was longer, still barely long enough to grab, and tugged hard.  Stiles had deepened the kiss, adding teeth and tongue, pushing up into Derek until he pushed back, pushed Stiles down into the mattress and pillows, pinned Stiles with his weight.

Stiles had instinctively spread his legs wider, got a hand on Derek's ass and a heel around the back of Derek's knee and pulled.  He pulled as he ground up against Derek's unflagging erection, pulled until Derek was driving mindlessly against him, driving him into the bed, leaking enough to slick the skin between them.  Stiles moved against Derek's unyielding body, drove him until Derek's entire body stuttered.

His lips went slack against Stiles', his breath hot in Stiles' mouth.  The hand on the bed that kept him from completely dropping his weight onto Stiles trembled.  His hips rolled in drawn-out snaps, in time with the pulsing jets of heat that flooded wet between them, scenting the air around them.

Derek was about as vocal in this as Stiles ever imagined or expected him to be.  The sounds he made were little more than reluctant, bitten-off growls and low sighs that Stiles felt as light touches all over his skin, but somewhere in there he was pretty sure he also heard a very quiet ' _Stiles_ ' that translated into a barely-there touch at his perineum which made a slow fade southward.

Stiles' hitherto uncooperative dick found something so unbelievably erotic and irresistible about the entire thing that he'd gone in seconds from half-hard to gasping orgasm.  Derek hadn't stopped moving his hips throughout, propelling Stiles through a dry orgasm that should have been little more than painful but _wasn't_.

He had Derek there, to keep him from flying away, to hold him down.  He had Derek's physical strength and he had something that had to be from the mating bond that kept him anchored; it felt like arms around his heart, warm and protective and...forever.

Fuck.

Stiles was barely eighteen years old.  He had six months left of high school.

He was mated for life to a werewolf.

His hands shook harder on the steering wheel and he tightened his grip until his fingers hurt.

This wasn't just a crush.  Even if it was only the magic and it ended, it was as real for Derek right now as it was for him, and he couldn't just treat this, them, as if it didn't matter how things turned out.  He didn't get to be a teenager about this, he didn't get to think about only himself in this.  Derek had to come first.

None of this was unwelcome.  It sure was unexpected.

He had absolutely no idea what to do, _how_ to do this.  He was exceptionally good at rolling with the punches, at re-working his plans to accommodate changes on the fly, but this...

What if it was really just the magic?

If it was really just the magic, he was going to be as screwed as Derek, because he'd judge every other relationship he had by what he now knew was possible.  Every other relationship, for the rest of his life, he was going to compare to this, to something he didn't even have because this was what he wanted, the only think he wanted.  He wanted Derek and he wanted this, and it was so _fucking_ unfair that this was probably just the magic, a will-o'-the-wisp that had sucked him into the eternal marsh of in-love-with-Derek and was going to abandon his heart there forever.

Omg, the magic was turning him into a teenage girl.

Stiles banged his fists on the steering wheel and screamed at the roof, "FUCK MY LIFE!"

\-----

Derek had collapsed on him, briefly, before rolling off, to his back.  Stiles didn't like the loss of heat, the sudden chill of come on his stomach, and he'd rolled with Derek, tucking into Derek's side with his head on Derek's shoulder.

For once, there was nothing he wanted to say.  He closed his eyes and drifted.  Later, Derek pressed a kiss to the top of his head and pushed him to his back.

"Ugh," Stiles complained when their skin unstuck.

"Stay there," Derek said, smirking, as he got out of bed.

"Asshole," Stiles said mildly when his wrists and ankles sank into the mattress, but he couldn't really complain because that was actually kind of hot and something to remember for future activities.

Derek returned with the t-shirt he'd been wearing earlier.  He'd wetted it, and used it to wipe down Stiles' stomach.

"What, I don't even rate a washcloth?"

Derek glanced up, his eyes flickering to red then back.  Instead of explaining, he crawled between Stiles' legs and lowered his head to sniff lightly at Stiles' belly – those touches at his pulse-points again.  Derek rumbled a satisfied growl.  The hand on the back of Stiles' neck was gentle this time, a heavy, stationary grip rather than a controlling pull back.

"You do know that only werewolves will smell that?"

Derek nodded, a slight upward curve to his mouth.

"And I'm going to shower as soon as I get home."

Derek scowled and his eyes flashed again to red.

Stiles' phone had pinged then.  When he'd gotten Derek off him and tracked down his phone on Derek's nightstand, it was his dad, reminding him that they were supposed to have dinner together and where was he.

\-----

Stiles had scrambled into a pair of Derek's workout shorts that had a string-tie and a clean t-shirt of Derek's (even though the wolf had tried to get Stiles into one Derek had already worn – Stiles could already tell they were going to have some conversations on this topic) and left as quickly as he could.  He had been delayed though because Derek had kissed him as he was changing, and kissed him again before he left the room; Derek had stopped him on the stairs and kissed him there, and he'd kissed him at the bottom of the stairs and by the front door and out on the porch, and Derek had kissed him outside, he'd pressed Stiles up against his Jeep and kissed him hard and insistent and with intent.  Derek had motioned him to roll down the window and had leaned in and kissed him again, this one gentle and lingering, one hand at the side of Stiles' face.

Stiles was still technically a teenager.  He figured that had to be the only reason he'd been able to come four times in less than an hour (he decided not to consider the possibility that it was the magic – it'd be totally badass if it wasn't and he wanted to _own_ that).  But as much as he wanted to jump right back into Derek's arms, he was also pretty sure his dick was done for a while.  Hopefully not for long, but, damn...even when he'd first discovered the personal joys of masturbation, he'd never come this many times this fast.  It was new territory for him.

It deserved a little contemplation.  Once he got done contemplating the rest of this mess.

\-----

Sitting in the Jeep, Stiles forced his breathing to slow, forced himself to concentrate on something besides his fear.  The very _last_ thing he needed right now was a panic attack.

He could do this.  Could he do this?  Without somehow accidentally hurting Derek worse than he already was?  Stiles wasn't exactly subtle.  Blunt-like-Thor's-hammer was more like what he was.  And Derek, for all his growly anger, acted like a delicate hothouse flower when it came to certain topics.

Fuck, was it even real?  Maybe he didn't even have to worry about this, if it was just the magic.  Maybe Derek's feelings would go away with the magic.  But they'd known magic to change things permanently.  What if this was one of those things?

\-----

Stiles banged the front door closed behind him and shouted, "Dad, I'm home."

He could practically hear his dad rolling his eyes when he answered from the kitchen, "Thanks, Stiles, I didn't hear the front door."  In spite of the humorous bite to his tone, his dad's voice enveloped him in an encompassing hug.

"Sorry I'm late," Stiles said as he entered the kitchen.  He said without preamble, "Something sort of happened."

His dad knew about werewolves now, knew about Scott and Derek and the rest of the pack.  Magic...not so much.  Stiles still hadn't decided how much to tell his dad, but he was long since tired of lying to him (it's not like his dad didn't know when he was lying, he just let him get away with it for a while) and he was leaning toward truth in this case.  It was just the 'how to introduce the topic' part he was worried about.

Mark looked over his shoulder at Stiles, a quick, sharp evaluation that Stiles had learned years ago could detect the smallest of lies, wounds, equivocations, omissions, intents.  He set down the spoon he was using to stir a pot of soup and turned to lean against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

"Dad, don't do that.  It wasn't me, I didn't do anything."

His dad snorted.  "Nothing provable?"

That one was a hand ruffling his hair, the way he had always done until Stiles made him stop when he hit junior high and it was suddenly uncool.  Stiles felt a sharp pang of love for his dad; even though he had stopped with the touches, it made him unexpectedly relieved to know the affection and sentiment was still there in his intent.

Stiles smiled, in spite of himself, happy to have this knowledge about his dad and pleased to have the shared reference.

Then he blushed because he suddenly remembered what he _had_ done.

" _Dammit_ , Stiles."  It wasn't the spank on the ass that Derek had delivered, but there were two invisible hands on his biceps in the careful, attention-getting grip his dad used whenever he judged it necessary in order to get Stiles' _complete_ attention.

Stiles held his hands up, maybe in self-defense, maybe to calm down his dad.  "No, dad, no, really, I didn't do anything.  Uh, illegal."

His dad rolled his eyes.

"Ugh.  Can we just, can I just tell you without the, just, can I?"

"Go right ahead."  A single hand on one of his shoulders, a light squeeze and a few pats.

That there was sarcasm.  His dad was so good at it that Stiles was occasionally in awe of him – when he wasn't ecstatic at how comprehensively he'd inherited that particular gene or kind of annoyed when his dad used it at him.  "I'm hungry.  Can we eat first?"

\-----

Awkward.

Awkward, awkward, _awkward_.

Stiles fell back on his bed and ran his hands over his face.

He might be gay.  Or bi.  (Oddly, his dad had shown zero surprise at that announcement.  Huh.)  He might be mated to Derek.  Or he might not.  It might be magic.  Or it might be real.  It _felt_ real.  Derek seemed to believe it was real.  But who knew.

He'd also give an unnecessary body part if it guaranteed he'd never have to have a conversation like that with his dad ever ever again for all of eternity and beyond.

\-----

School.

Fuck his life.

\-----

His math teacher was a substitute; her touches were little more than uninterested drifts of sensation over his shoulder or arm.

\-----

When his language teacher talked directly to him, he got a creepy touch sliding down his spine.

\-----

His health teacher didn't have any touch at all, which creeped him out more than anything else about this so far.

\-----

At lunch, Scott herded him out of the cafeteria the instant he realized the effect it was having on Stiles.  Every "Hi, Stiles" had some type of result on his body.  They weren't painful, few of them were visible, and pretty much none of them were welcome.  Well, except for that one from Shari, the cute new girl who had moved to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago-

\-----

The touches from Coach Finstock's words were barely there, barely tangible...a sense of distracted and distant attention.  They made Stiles shudder.

\-----

Stiles welcomed lacrosse practice, because the magic touches were pretty much overwritten by the physical impacts of practice.

Practice scrimmage turned into the best part of the day for a completely different reason.

Parker, a massive attackman, unnecessarily body-checked him hard enough to send him flying.  He landed on his back, winded and with his mouth gaping like a fish out of water while he waited for his lungs to get moving again already.

Jackson, of all people, ran over and started chewing out Parker.  Parker looked about as baffled as Stiles felt and apologized to Stiles immediately.

Parker actually meant the apology, because his words were an awkward handshake, and Stiles nodded his acceptance while air flooded back into his lungs.  Jackson turned and looked down at Stiles.  Stiles couldn't help his flinch when Jackson held out a hand.

"You okay, Stiles?"

It was genuine.  His tone was sarcastic but his concern was genuine and that more than anything froze Stiles in place.

"Stiles."  He sounded impatient, and his words were slight, light, allover touches looking for broken bones.

"'M fine," Stiles took Jackson's hand and scrambled to his feet.  "Fine.  Thanks."

\-----

Stiles expected Derek to show up at his window that evening, but the wolf had texted him that he needed to do a perimeter run of the preserve.  Stiles took a long time – too long – to decide if he should be insulted that he wasn't getting a honeymoon or relieved because it meant they didn't have to do more of that stupid talking thing where Derek pretty much took Stiles apart and put him back together again.

He was gonna go for relieved.

\-----

Stiles flew upright in his bed at the crack of dawn, wide awake and with dread coiling in his chest. 

His ribs ached – no, they _hurt_ , like someone had just clawed a big chunk out of his skin.

He scrambled out of bed and threw on yesterday's jeans and the first t-shirt his hand landed on.  He texted Scott as he thundered down the stairs and grabbed his keys, and he barely remembered to lock the front door behind him.

\-----

Scott waited on the curb in front of his house.  He dove inside the Jeep and Stiles was driving away before he got the door closed.

"Dude, what?" Scott asked.

Stiles drove towards a point somewhere at the north end of the preserve because...of reasons.

"I think Derek's hurt."

"Where?  How?  Did he text you?  Why didn't he call me?"

"He didn't- I can't explain, we just, I just know."

"Okay...where are we going?"

"To find him."

"Aaaand...how are we doing that?"

"Can't explain."

"Stiles?  Are you okay?"

The concern in Scott's voice was perfectly understandable but he didn't have time to overshare right now.  His heart was about to beat out of his chest and the pain in his ribs was turning to fire and-

Scott grabbed the wheel when Stiles nearly drove off the road because his thigh exploded into pain and he somehow managed to stand on the brake but he couldn't move his left leg to hit the clutch.  The Jeep shuddered and rattled and pinged and died, tilted as it straddled asphalt and dirt.

Scott got him over to the passenger seat in spite of the fact that he was clutching his leg and screeching like a crazy person the entire time.

"Where," Scott demanded as soon as he got the Jeep restarted and back on the road.  He sounded like Derek, and Stiles would have laughed if he wasn't certain it would end up sounding like he was crying.

He managed to point a shaking finger somewhere further north and Scott, best friend Scott, drove in that direction.

They drove and drove and Stiles worked hard to focus through the pain to keep pointing at a moving target.  It was Scott who figured it out.

"He's heading to Deaton's."

"Yes, yeah," Stiles gasped, because that _resonated_ , then he slumped down in the seat and sideways against Scott's shoulder and closed his eyes for the rest of the drive.

\-----

About half a mile from Deaton's, the pain evaporated.

"Fuuuuck," Stiles groaned in relief.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, and the Jeep wobbled a little when Scott accelerated.

"Pain is gone."  Stiles pushed himself upright.  "Thank fuck.  That fucking hurt."

"Stiles?  What's going on?"

"Later?"

Scott glanced over long enough to see how serious Stiles was, then looked back to the road.

"All right.  But later for sure."

"Sure.  Thanks, man."

\-----

Scott used the Jeep's tires to fling gravel off into Deaton's side yard from the parking lot of the clinic, and Stiles gave him a high-five for technique.

They scrambled out of the jeep and barreled through the front door and through to the back and Stiles froze at the sight of Derek laid out on the metal surgery table.

Scott barely dodged around Stiles in time, yelping and complaining as he did so, but then he was across the table from Deaton and grabbing things and handing things.  Derek was unconscious, his shirt and pants removed.  On his side was a nearly-healed series of deep scratches, while his left thigh was still an ugly mess.

Deaton was cleaning the wound; not much else they could do for werewolves.

When he finished, Deaton thanked Scott and turned to Stiles, still frozen near the doorway.

"He'll be fine."

Stiles nodded.

"He'll be awake in a few minutes."

Stiles nodded.

Seconds later he was alone.  They were alone.  He was alone with Derek.

Whatthefuckever.

He lurched to the table, stood there, watched, felt his face flush for no understandable reason.  He put his hand on Derek's bicep, lax and soft, expecting movement and life and hardness and sarcasm and, something?

Derek responded to his touch.

That had to be it, because Derek's eyes flew open and his bicep flexed and he twitched away until he recognized Stiles.  Then he pushed himself up on that elbow and wrapped a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and pulled him close.

Oh holy fuck, Derek kissed him.

It was hard and full of teeth and tongue and he felt all of Derek's relief in the middle of his chest.

He kissed back, clutching at Derek and leaning into him until Deaton cleared his throat somewhere over there.

Stiles startled; Derek didn't stop kissing.  Actually, Derek fell back to the table and dragged Stiles with him, until Stiles was pretty sure Deaton left the room but fuck, who cared, Derek was kissing him and Derek had a hand on his dick and fuck yeah, _survival!_


End file.
